


Thirty-Five Years

by wendyindahouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, optimistic ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendyindahouse/pseuds/wendyindahouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Thirty-five years of blood, sweat and tears.  Thirty-five years of pain and destruction.  And for what?  The world is just as fucked-up as ever; angels and demons alike waging war across the globe.  It never gets any better, so what’s the fucking point?  It certainly doesn’t get better for those he holds dear.  For Sammy.  For Cas.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Dean finds himself alone on this thirty-fifth birthday, with only too much time on his hands to reflect on how much his life currently sucks.  However, a surprise call from Cas offers the possibility of something better.</p><p>***CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SEASON 9***</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty-Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> I just realised I forgot to post this here (originally posted on tumblr in January) so...
> 
> I felt the need to write a thing because it was Dean’s birthday, and Dean is all kinds of wonderful, but woah… it came out angsty. I promise it’s ok in the end though!
> 
> [(my tumblr)](http://poorbeautifuldean.tumblr.com)

Dean rummages in his duffel, finally locating the whiskey and pulling it free, only to glare at the almost-empty bottle accusingly.  Great.  Thirty-five years of shit to obliterate and he’s out of booze.  Thirty-one years of shit, he corrects himself grudgingly.  The first four years were pretty okay.  The ones before his Mom… No.  Not going there.

He lifts the bottle to his lips and drains what remains, relishing the burn of the cheap liquor as it trails fire down the back of his throat, settling as an uneasy warmth in his stomach.

Thirty-five years, all leading to this: to being alone.  Alone in this fleapit motel and alone in this life, so transient and fleeting.  Where once he’d had Sam, now he had nothing, and there was no one to blame but himself.  In trying to save Sam, he’d only succeeded in driving him away, and Kevin had paid the ultimate… No!  Can’t go there.  Not again.

The now-empty bottle clatters unheeded to the floor as he falls back against musty pillows on an unwelcoming motel room bed.

Thirty-five years of blood, sweat and tears.  Thirty-five years of pain and destruction.  And for what?  The world is just as fucked-up as ever; angels and demons alike waging war across the globe.  It never gets any better, so what’s the fucking point?  It certainly doesn’t get better for those he holds dear.  For Sammy.  For Cas.

And this time he can’t stop the thought as it ploughs like a freight train through the warm fuzz of alcohol clouding his brain. 

Cas.

Cas, who is like a beacon in the devouring darkness of his own thoughts.  Cas, who understands how it is to be led astray by good intentions; who  _forgives_  him.  Cas, who he sent away over and over again, but who still came back when he called; when he needed him.  And he does need Cas, he knows that.  Not because of what he is able to offer but because  _he is Cas_.  Ever since Cas first laid a hand on him in hell, they have been inextricably linked and a piece of him has always belonged to Cas. 

Thirty-five long years of experience, and it is only over the last few that he has come to realise it is not just a piece of his soul that Cas has a claim on; it is his heart.  It is a realisation that brings nothing good.  Being loved by Dean Winchester is toxic; leads to nothing but pain; a death sentence waiting to be carried out.  Much better to put himself at a distance.  His own unhappiness is a small price to pay to try and protect those he carries in his heart.

His glances at the clock on the nightstand: 00:01.  Happy fucking birthday.

The buzz of his phone startles him as it begins to ring.  He refuses to look down at the screen, letting it ring and ring as he studies the stains on the motel ceiling, trying not to let himself wonder who it might be, nerves jangling as it rings on and on.  He breathes a sigh of relief as it finally stops, fingers relaxing where they had unconsciously curled into tight fists.  Weariness hits him like a sledgehammer and he once again curses the emptiness of the whiskey bottle, knowing sleep will not come on its own.

The phone buzzes again, but only once this time.  And shit, that means there’s a message.  Sam.  It must be Sam.  Neediness twists in his gut and he knows he will give in and listen to it eventually so it might as well be now.  He reaches for the phone and drags his thumb across the screen to unlock it.  The sight of Cas’ name on the screen is a genuine shock, but he should have known better than to think Sam would reach out, birthday or no.  He turns speakerphone on, bringing the phone up to rest on his chest, fear creeping in as it occurs to him something must be wrong with Sam.  Why else would Cas be calling him?  Cas’ gruff voice washes over him as the message starts to play.

“Dean.  I had assumed you wouldn’t answer, but I hadn’t prepared to leave a message.  I…” Cas’ voice pauses, the faint sound of breathing just audible through the phone’s tinny speaker before he continues in a rush.

“I wanted to wish you happy birthday.  It… it seems these things are important and I didn’t want you to think I,  _we_ , didn’t remember”.  Dean hears Cas sigh, take in a breath as though about to speak, then release it again in a huff.

“Sam’s getting better by the way.  We’re working on it and he’s going to be ok.  I’m… I’m okay too I guess”.  Cas’ voice is uncertain, tentative, and Dean clenches his fists at how wrong that sounds.

“It’s just… it’s not how I thought” he continues, voice barely more than a whisper.  Dean can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want Sam to hear, or because he’s confiding something he thinks he shouldn’t.  The rawness in Cas’ voice is telling when he speaks again.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Dean.  When you sent me away, and I had nowhere to stay, I used to dream about being here at the Bunker; dream about what it would be like to have a home.  But… it wasn’t like this, Dean.  Never like this”.  Dean hears Cas taking in a shaky breath and he grinds the heels of his palms against his burning eyes.

“It’s not supposed to be like this, Dean, because you’re supposed to be here too.  And without you, it isn’t home.  Not really.  Because my home is wherever you are”.  Dean draws in a sharp breath, throat suddenly constricted.

“And I know you probably won’t even listen to this message, because you have some misguided notion that this is all for the best. But it  _isn’t_.  It’s not  _fair_.  It’s not fair that you get to decide for us… for me.  How is it for the best when all I can think about is how much I miss you and how much I need you?” Cas’ voice trails off to a devastated whisper.  “When all I can think about is how much I love you.”

Dean sits bolt upright, phone tumbling to the mattress as he swings his feet to the floor, elbows resting on his knees and fingers rubbing his temples as Cas’ voice continues to fill the room, now strangely flat.

“I know it isn’t the same for you.  And that’s okay, Dean.  Really.  I just thought you should know that whenever you’re ready, there’s people waiting here for you, and that whatever you think about yourself… I don’t think that - nowhere close – and I would always rather you were with me, whatever that might bring. I…”

Dean curses as the rest of Cas’ message gets cut off, getting up slowly and crossing to chair in the corner to grab his duffel.  He heads for the door and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he swipes the keys to the Impala off the dresser. 

It’s his birthday, after all, and it appears he has places to be.  Maybe this one will finally be the start of something better.


End file.
